


The Applicant.

by theweakestthing



Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Co-Dependency, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Yet Another Exploration of Dan Cain's Broken Psyche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweakestthing/pseuds/theweakestthing
Summary: "Open your hand. Empty? Empty. Here is a hand to fill it and willing" - Sylvia Plath (The Applicant from Ariel).Dan was snared at first sight and hasn't yet been able to break free.
Relationships: Daniel Cain/Herbert West
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	The Applicant.

**Author's Note:**

> A few months ago I started reading Sylvia Plath and found her poem The Applicant really compelling and then my fingers slipped or something, anyway enjoy~

His hair was black like ink, like the spots of mould that were collecting in the shower. Lips two flat pink rose petals. The head of his dick showed more emotion than his face, all flushed and weeping compared to the expressionless stone slab above. At least there was some indication of enjoyment. Sometimes Dan wondered just what Herbert got out of this thing between them, he wouldn’t call it a relationship, wondered if there were any real emotions beneath all the shadow play intended to make Dan stay.

“You’ve never been able to keep your eyes off of me, have you Daniel?” Herbert asked, head tilted as he hummed. Cloying fingers pulled Dan toward him. “Don’t get bashful now,” he said, words breathed against Dan’s enflamed skin, “I enjoy being the focus of your attention,” he added, watching Dan as his fingers slid down the man’s arm.

He kissed the coquettish little grin from Herbert’s hateful mouth. It was hard to hear those words, he wanted to believe them, but even if they were true he’d be a fool to fall for them. And he was a fool to think that he hadn’t already.

* * *

When they first met, Dan had compared Herbert’s pallor to the corpses that shared their company in the morgue, he’d also thought about fucking him hard against the cold tiled walls. Herbert was certainly dressed for the part of a corpse, funeral parlour suit that fit almost like a second skin. And that small moment of silent shared eye contact made certain that Herbert was cemented in Dan’s fantasies from then on. It was a novel casting for sure. He’d never thought that way about someone like Herbert before, though he had never met anyone like Herbert before.

It was easier to admit that he’d got himself off to the thought of the man than all the other things he’d done for him. The fantasy was the first in a long line of trespasses he had allowed.

Herbert was a strange honey trap. Dan had spent many hours trying to figure out just what had first drawn him to the madman. Maybe it had been the ignorance, he had never met anyone so blatantly rude, and the way he’d brushed past Dan’s outstretched hand to inspect the nearby cadaver was far beyond any cold shoulder Dan had ever gotten before. It might also have been his curious appearance. That near flawless skin, pale as alabaster, accented by pursed pink lips and sharp dismissive hazel eyes. Those small mousey features weren’t what Dan would usually go for, but they caught him all the same.

He knew that it was that short moment of eye contact that truly sealed his fate. Dan had been staring at his feet, his thoughts a mess of student loans, finances and scholarship applications, when he had looked up seconds before Herbert looked back at him. That was the moment Dan was overcome with the urge to thrust him up against the wall, his intrigue thoroughly ignited.

That intrigue had unfolded into bare faced interest when Herbert showed up on his doorstep later that night. Dan, himself, was naked beside the bed sheet, though Herbert’s eyes hadn’t strayed from his face. He had chastised himself for hoping and being disappointed. Even if Herbert had shown an interest, at least in a way that Dan would have understood, he wouldn’t have done anything about it. He had Meg. They were engaged. He loved her. At least he cared about her. At least that was what he kept telling himself.

If only he had caught Herbert naked and wanton in the night instead of raising the dead in his basement. That would have been easier to deal with, easier to ignore. Though, it was more likely to end his career, and what a sick twist of fate that was.

None of those things reflected well on Meg or Dan’s feelings and supposed devotion to her.

The injustices he had made against Meg had stacked up and collapsed on top of Dan, burying him underneath them. The worst of all the things he had done and hadn’t done was to defend Herbert, to take his side instead of hers, ignoring her worries and doubts (even if they’d been based on nothing but vague feelings and speculations at first). She had warned him that Herbert would ruin him, but strangely he was the one that came out most unscathed. Though, he supposed he wore the damage on his soul, he imagined that it was torn to shreds, like a cat’s nails through curtains.

Meg was dead and gone, buried in a metal casket and encased in concrete, she would never be getting out (he hoped). With the only lasting memory of her the lonely looming tombstone, Dan supposed that there was no point in playing at grieving chastity.

Herbert had stood beside him at Meg’s funeral. Twitchy and unfeeling with the need to return to the work, if Dan didn’t know better he would have simply brushed it off as an edgy trauma response, but he knew exactly what kind of addict Herbert was.

He had taken Herbert against the couch the moment they got home, bent the smaller man’s body over the armrest, and fucked him in his funeral clothes (not that they were any different from Herbert’s usual dress). Herbert hadn’t complained, in fact he’d been a rather enthusiastic participant, clawing at the cushions as he whined so sweetly.

* * *

Dan dropped down onto the mattress, breathed hard into the pillow with his chest heaving, and struggled to crawl back into his own body. He hated the tacky sensation of sweat cooling on his skin. It was almost like Herbert was still touching him, a phantom embrace, as though he couldn’t escape the man’s spectre.

He watched Herbert light a cigarette, lips taught around the stick as he brought the flame to its tip. Herbert had taken to cigarettes and coffee as soon as they had gotten him off of the reagent. It was a clear sign of an addictive nature.

It was obvious that Herbert had been addicted to something else before. The way he knew what to expect from withdrawal, it was more than just the understanding learnt from a textbook, it was experience that shone through in the way he prepared himself and the crafty little manipulations he tried to work on Dan. For once he knew better and managed to get Herbert truly clean.

Of course that didn’t last long.

* * *

He slammed the door behind him. It felt good to hear it shudder in the frame, never mind the fact that Herbert wouldn’t hear it, he was probably still down in the basement where Dan had left him. Dan held his keys in a tight grip as he tried not to grind his teeth.

On dark and bending roads, Dan drove toward the edge of town. It probably wasn’t a good idea to drive in the state he was in. he was still shaking from the rush of adrenaline, hands twitchy over the steering wheel. He had been so close to throttling Herbert.

It was hard to believe that there had been a time when all he wanted was for Herbert to live. Surrounded by chaos and the cleanup crew made of medical personnel, the hospital security team and police officers, with his hands braced over each other, Dan pressed the chest compressions down against Herbert’s limp body. He tried not to remember that he had failed in this exact way the day he’d met Herbert. Tried not to think about how this same technique had failed him mere minutes ago.

At the time, he had begged and pleaded with whatever deity that probably wasn’t there, praying with his fingers laced over Herbert’s heart. Now he considered it a given that Herbert would live. The man might as well have been allergic to death, the way he stumbled through life, battered and bruised but still alive. He resented the wasted tears he had shed, the innocent efforts he had made to clear Herbert’s airways.

Herbert had paid him back in kind. Life for life. In a psychosomatic motion, Dan put his hand to his stomach and traced his fingers along the scar over his shirt. He wondered what Herbert had felt at that moment. Had he been scared, had he cried, had he damned his hands for shaking, had his heart been racing, had his sweat mixed with the tears and made it hard for him to see, or had it simply been another procedure for him? Dan didn’t dare ask. He couldn’t trust whatever answer would come, either way.

Eventually he brought his hand back up to the steering wheel. They were still shaking. It was hard to believe that he’d even considered killing Herbert. He knew he couldn’t do it, would never do it. His hands were meant to heal, to mend and soothe, they were not meant for violence. Dan wasn’t meant for violence. Even if he could, what would it accomplish?

Would killing Herbert better his life? No, Dan knew that much at least. Killing Herbert would bring nothing but grief and absence, and Dan would be left to pick up what little was left of his life. And if he gave into that urge for just a moment, long enough to put his hands on Herbert, the thought alone was more than he could bear. Even after everything that the man had done, Dan couldn’t stand to see Herbert hurt. Though Herbert hadn’t designed it to be that way, it was hard not to consider the gains he got from it. Herbert was all that Dan had left after all.

It would also be handing Herbert another tool to use against him. And he had already handed Herbert so much.

He had given Herbert everything he had to give. Herbert had his body in every way possible, for work and for pleasure. There was barely a moment when Herbert wasn’t on his mind, for better and for worse, he wavered between naïve boundless adoration he hadn’t yet managed to tame and a shrewd knowing trepidation that was never loud enough for him to listen to. They shared finances like a married couple. Of course Herbert had left the bookkeeping to Dan, he was too busy to even consider it and besides it was so simple that Dan should be able to do it with his eyes closed, at least Herbert had said so. In reality Herbert was simply too erratic and distracted, he would have forgotten the bills until the debtors came calling. Dan took the responsibility, and bore it as though it were his punishment for choosing to stand by Herbert.

Dan was inextricably tied to Herbert. At this point there was no leaving, not really, he was in far too deep. For a moment he considered spending the night in a motel. It might do him some good, might do the both of them some good, to spend some time apart. Dan might remember that he was a person outside of the sphere of chaos that followed Herbert around.

The itch crept in though. And despite his best intentions, it always crept in. In that way Dan understood addiction, he had his own.

Dan turned the car around and went back home, back to Herbert.

* * *

He found Herbert face down in his bed, arms clutched around Dan’s preferred pillow. Dan knew enough to know that this wasn’t a lie. The begging, pleading and constant manipulation, it was all in aid of keeping Dan around. In his absence he would always be missed.

But it was dangerous to indulge in the image spread out before him. Sure it wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Despite the danger, Dan always found himself sinking into the emotions blooming inside him, growing as its vines and roots strangled his heart.

Herbert lifted his head the moment Dan’s weight dipped the mattress. Words were never spoken when he returned, he figured that it was to save both of them from the embarrassment of trying to apologise for something that neither of them felt sorry for. It would be an effort in futility. Instead of words, it was Herbert’s touch that pulled him back in and under.

The longing was not proof of love. Neither were the searing kisses or the touches that felt like freeze burn, nor the rare endearing gaze or the genius exposed for his eyes only. The worst was the praise, the scant scraps that were dropped into his mouth like treats, followed by a gentle pat on the head. That praise made him weak. And the absolute worst of it was that Herbert knew.

He knew and he had used it time and time again against him. Just a little bit of sweetness to draw him in, the tacky wax of honey that kept him close.

Even if Herbert did love him, no one should be loved like that.

It was all far too similar to a Greek tragedy for Dan’s liking. He sneered even as he compared himself to Persephone. He longed for the days where he hadn’t known the sound of the undead, didn’t feel the filth of rot on him, where the stench of decay didn’t fill his nose.

He missed summer, down in the basement it was dark and cold, a never ending winter. The temperature was better for the specimens, better for their work. There were no clocks either. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was without consulting his wristwatch, but every time he looked at it Herbert caught him with an expression of disdain.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom of course, that was the problem. The inviting chill of Herbert’s skin, the needy cloying touches, the desperate pull of tacky hands, the sinewy rush of thighs against his own, the thrill of a racing pulse beneath his hand, hot breaths puffed against his already heated skin, the scrape of blunt nails against his scalp, the feeling of a growing erection swelling against his hip, the passionate kisses that made him feel like he was sinking and all of that was just in that moment as he held Herbert against him.

There was so much more that kept him where he was. Those things that had first drawn him to Herbert were all still there, that sharp eyed cynical conniving mind, that blinding ambition, boundless curiosity, his expressionless face that was always betrayed by his frantic body language, the undeniable genius held in his terrifying mind, the strangely prim but dishevelled attire and those lips, those pursed bright pink lips that belied the hateful mouth that hid behind them. Dan had tripped the moment he’d first set eyes on Herbert and hadn’t stopped falling since.

And Herbert had found many other ways to keep Dan in his snare. The issue of the previously mentioned praise was quickly discovered and abused, Dan had always known that it was a keen weakness of his but that didn’t mean that he’d become immune to it. The appeals to his better nature always twisted the knife. Though, the use of Meg’s heart had truly wounded him, he was still reeling from what he’d done once it was proffered to him. And once Herbert had learnt how to use his _wiles_ then he’d had Dan all but wrapped around his finger.

He figured that this was how Hades coaxed Persephone back down into the underworld every autumn. Dan could feel himself sinking into those deceitful hands. At this point it didn’t really feel like he had an option, where else would he go?

* * *

The summers were getting shorter.

Herbert’s obsession, his tunnel vision, was near impossible to work with. Dan could barely get through to him. It was hard enough to get Herbert to shower, have something to eat and go to work, let alone pull him away from the basement to rest and relax. He had found Herbert slumped over the table with his face planted in his notes several times already.

It had been weeks since they had last spent the night together. They used to watch a movie together, at least once a week, eat take-out and eventually find their way to his bedroom. He missed the way the glow from the television would cast Herbert’s face in eerie light. They never quite managed to finish a movie, it used to annoy him sometimes, but now he longed for the interruption.

The most he was able to do was coax him out of the basement for dinner. Herbert would stand in the kitchen, mind obviously reeling with thoughts of future experiments and their precious work, plate held in one hand as he chewed absent-mindedly. At first Dan had watched him until he’d cleaned the plate and trotted off back to the basement without so much as a word. Eventually he left Herbert to it and watched prime time TV on his own.

Getting Herbert to sleep was akin to pulling teeth with nothing but a wrench. It was always clear when Herbert was exhausted, and he grew clumsy as his overtaxed mind began to slow. The stubborn bastard would never admit to feeling tired though. It reminded Dan of a child refusing to go to bed while rubbing their eyes, and it might have been some kind of adorable if it weren’t the same thing every damn night, it also didn’t help that Herbert’s recklessness was life threatening. An argument would usually ensue. It would rage on until they were both exhausted and finally, finally Herbert would follow him up the stairs.

It used to be that Dan could coax him out of the basement with a look and a touch, a few words that no one else would dare utter to the man. It used to be that Herbert would simply follow him to bed when Dan decided to call it a night. And on the rarest of occasions, Herbert would curl the cold flesh of his palm around Dan’s wrist and suggest that they go to bed, Dan cherished those nights.

It wasn’t the first time that this had happened either, it happened in cycles, it was all a part of Herbert’s addictive nature. He would find some new idea and obsess over it to distraction. Herbert would focus so wholly on this new exciting aspect of their work and research, but he’d hit a wall eventually, then he would crash and burn out.

Dan was tired of waiting for Herbert to burn out. He wanted some kind of balance, like any normal life, but Herbert couldn’t do normal. It was almost as if he wasn’t quite house broken. The thought came to him like an echo from the past and he had to move, had to act before the memory took hold.

He found Herbert, swaying on his feet, scalpel held in shaking hands over the carcase of an iguana. Several failed experiments lied discarded in their makeshift bio-hazardous trashcan. If he ended up cutting himself open instead of the lizard, then that was just what he deserved, Dan thought. The recklessness was staggering. But Dan wouldn’t see more bloodshed, couldn’t watch Herbert get hurt again.

“Herbert,” Dan called, hating the familiar whine in his voice. He closed his hand around Herbert’s and set the scalpel down.

“You’re getting in the way of important progress Dan,” Herbert muttered, head tilted up, scowling even as he leaned into Dan’s frame. He blinked slowly at Dan through the lens of his glasses. Even when he was this tired, barely able to stand on his feet, Herbert was still ready to argue.

“Your hands will be getting in the way of important progress if you’re not careful,” Dan returned. Unlike Herbert he’d had a decent night’s sleep and he wasn’t willing to argue anymore.

There was no point in arguing with Herbert anyway. He’d be more productive if he smacked his own head against the bare brick wall. No, was done arguing.

Dan used Herbert’s tiredness to his advantage and pushed the smaller man down into a stool. He cleaned up after Herbert, returned the iguana carcase to the fridge and set the tools aside to be sterilised later. All the while, Herbert continued to mumble and mutter about Dan supposedly stopping Herbert from making imminent and groundbreaking breakthroughs. It was the same familiar drivel that Dan was used to.

“Herbert, let’s go to bed,” Dan said, once he was done.

Herbert’s eyes were closed, but that didn’t stop him from protesting.

“I have work to do.”

Dan could have laughed, he could have cried.

“You’re practically asleep already,” Dan sighed, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew he should leave, just pack a bag and get as far away from Herbert West as possible, maybe even put an ocean between them. If he was gone though, what would happen to Herbert? The other man had managed to take care of himself before they’d met somehow. Still Dan worried. He supposed he had been conditioned into it, by Herbert’s near constant reliance on him. Whatever it was he could examine it later, or never, probably never. “Come on Herbert,” he said, he nudged Herbert but he refused to stand.

“You’ll have to take me by force,” Herbert bit out, his eyes slid open and slowly rolled up to meet Dan’s. It was almost adorable how much he was struggling to keep them open. His eyelids flickered and drooped. Dan restrained himself from touching Herbert, he knew he couldn’t trust himself to keep his affection out his hands.

“That’s not the come on you think it is, especially with those bags under your eyes,” Dan said, biting back a laugh, as he poked Herbert’s cheek. He’d never learnt to keep his hands to himself.

“It’s not a come on,” Herbert huffed.

“So what are you going to do then?” Dan asked, arms folded over his chest as he watched Herbert struggle to maintain eye contact.

“I’m going to stay right here and finish the work you’re neglecting,” Herbert replied with petty defiance.

Dan sighed again, a sharp huff through his nose. If he couldn’t cajole Herbert into leaving the basement of his own volition, then there was another option as Herbert had rightly pointed out, Dan could always carry him. That thought stuck in Dan’s mind, gluing up his thoughts.

Since Herbert didn’t eat much, either forgetting because he’d been out of the habit or too focused on the work or another case of stubborn refusal, and spent most of his time on his feet, both at the hospital and down there in the basement, Herbert was plenty light. Dan was sure that he would be able to carry Herbert up to the ground floor at least.

Before his mind could kick in and tell him just how much of a colossally bad idea it was, Dan scooped Herbert off of the stool and into his arms, bridal style. He had expected the smaller man to put a fight or at least say something. As it was, Herbert simply blinked up at Dan, maybe he was in shock. He stayed quiet as Dan climbed to steps out of the basement. At the top of the stairs, Dan stopped and awkwardly fumbled to work the door open, eventually he was able to slip through a small opening and found himself in the hall. He was starting to feel the strain in his arms.

“Not that I’m not a fan of your grand acts of masculinity, but if you drop me Dan, there will be hell to pay,” Herbert muttered with a quiet yawn, but the shake in his hands as they clutched at the front of Dan’s shirt belied how truly worried he was.

Dan didn’t say anything in reply. He simply readjusted his hold on Herbert, took a deep breath and carried on up to the bedroom. Attempting to hide the effort and strain was pointless. Herbert always seemed to know everything that Dan tried to hide anyway, and so he let his breathing grow heavy.

By the time they reached the bedroom, Herbert was deadweight in his arms. Dan looked down to find the man fast asleep. Long eyelashes were magnified by his glasses, his pallid skin was waxen and he looked sickly under the eerie moonlight. Dan set him down on the bed with a heaving sigh. He sat on the edge of the mattress and watched Herbert’s sleeping form.

Even after all the years between them, Dan still found something odd and unsettling about the sight of Herbert immobile and resting. At times, it seemed as though Herbert would never stop moving. He was always frantically flitting about, mind jumping from thought to thought, and Dan could barely keep up. All that motion and action and lack of care for his own physical needs meant that, when Herbert finally crashed he was out cold. He was dead to the world and that was what bothered Dan.

He plucked the glasses off of Herbert’s face and set them aside, undid the tie around Herbert’s throat, unblocked and gently pulled free the leather belt, and undid the laces of Herbert’s Oxfords and pulled them free from his feet. It was easier to play domestic partner than to give in to the thoughts that always seemed to prod his brain whenever he came upon a sleeping Herbert.

The quiet and the lack of motion brought to mind images of the dead. Dan’s memory was not lacking for imagery of corpses, the dying and the dead, and it freely assaulted him with them. An unending carousel slideshow of all the people he’d failed. And it was so easy to imagine Herbert among them.

All it would take was an experiment gone wrong, as they usually did, and Dan would lose the only thing he had left. They’d had come so close to it so many times already. Dan laid his hand over Herbert’s chest and felt the evidence of his beating heart.

* * *

Dan wasn’t sure if he’d even thought about another man in a sexual manner before Herbert. Though in hindsight there had been so many moments, so many times where his eyes had wandered, and so many instances where he’d felt the wrongness of the mould he was forced into. He had gone through his life simply doing what was expected of him. It was a disservice he had done unto himself, and another wrong he had committed against Meg, along with every other woman he’d ever touched.

Herbert had dragged him out of the closet. Pulled him brand new into who he had always been, naked as the day he was born, and showed him so many things he had never known were possible.

Every interaction after that first encounter against the couch, Herbert pulled him in with a feigned sense of practice and knowledge obviously gleaned from textbooks and pornography. He’d never called Herbert up on it though. It wouldn’t do to disabuse Herbert of his superiority, and it wasn’t as though Dan was about to complain about his attempts at skill.

At first it had been an addictive and exciting novelty to be the one in control, the one with all the knowledge, for once. But, as with all things, Herbert was a quick study and Dan had unwittingly handed Herbert the tools of his own undoing, again.

He hadn’t kissed someone with such little experience since he was still in high school. But it wasn’t long before Herbert was kissing him with practiced ease, touching him as though he had a map of all the places where Dan gave, every place that would make his knees weak and his dick twitch. And then Dan was coming apart in a matter of minutes.

There was a novelty to that too. Being worked upon by the wretched hands of his tormentor, Herbert didn’t work him like any other experiment laid bare in their basement. No, with him Herbert was careful and gentle. With him Herbert was almost just like any other lover. Almost.

That wicked intellect was always there, always working, and Herbert’s mind was forever half somewhere else, he was never wholly with Dan. He would never be completely Dan’s.

Dan had learnt that a long time ago, but the sting remained, that sting was a constant reminder that the work came first and Dan came some place after. In a way, he understood. The work _was_ more important than him. It was more important than both of them. But he was human, or at least far more susceptible to human weaknesses and human desires, what Herbert would call their baser needs. He couldn’t deny those things. Dan was an inherently emotional person, and sometimes the ache for affection became too much to handle.

His hands were open and waiting to be filled however Herbert chose to fill them. Dan knew he was a tool, used in so many ways. Herbert pulled his strings like a puppet.

Dan had never been the argumentative type. He was the placative type, the kind of person who eased tensions and made efforts to please others. In the end all it meant was that even when he was right, he couldn’t fight his corner, not in the face of Herbert’s combative nature. Dan wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Herbert had come out of the womb swinging. He didn’t usually win their fights, no that there ever could be a clear winner given their differing moralities and values, but he always _felt_ like the loser anyway.

Even in the areas where Dan thought of himself as more experienced and knowledgeable than Herbert, Dan still found himself losing ground. Things were always slipping through his fingers. Herbert never stayed in his grasp and everything else fell to the wayside in his desperate attempts to hold onto the other man.

* * *

They’d been caught, quite literally red handed, wrist deep in the last unfortunate soul who had come sniffing around. There wasn’t a lot that they could have said in their defence. It wasn’t as though they could pretend that they’d been trying to save the man’s life, despite how true it might have been.

It stupidly surprised him to learn that the FBI had been following their paper (body) trail. He’d almost had tunnel vision as bad as Herbert’s to think that no one was even close to coming upon their shared atrocities.

Sat in the interrogation room, they left Dan alone with nothing but his reflection in the one way mirror. It was smart on their part. Dan was prone to doubt when left to his own devices, especially when it came to Herbert, and that doubt crept in as he traced the lines on his face.

He knew, had known, that they couldn’t do this forever. He had long since let go of the idea that they would ever make any actual breakthrough, they would never claim a noble prize, they would never defeat death. Sometimes he wondered whether Herbert really believed it either. Dan figured that he had to, the work was all that truly mattered after all.

They were probably probing Herbert. It wouldn’t work, Herbert had told him some time ago to never talk to the cops, he’d said to just ask for lawyer and invoke your right to silence. Dan supposed that the feds might know they were wasting their time.

Herbert had a record, there was a mysterious death in Switzerland that he was involved in, and there was an entire incident, locally known as a massacre, that he was involved in. And nothing had stuck to him yet. They didn’t have any evidence for those previous incidents. They had evidence now, and they probably had just enough to stick them to the wall. And still Dan had the feeling that Herbert would find a way to wriggle out of it. Herbert was slippery like that.

If there was still a single fibre of morality inside him, then Dan should give Herbert up, it wouldn’t wash him of his sins but it was at least a small effort at atonement. So far all Dan’s precious morality had done was set guilt deep inside his gut. That guilt had done about as much as the morality itself. Neither had ever been enough for him to hand Herbert over, or even leave. He had left, many times, but he always came back.

He had to break the cycle. Dan gritted his teeth and made his decision, he curled his hands into fists against his thighs under the table, his nails bit into the flesh of his palms. They hadn’t cuffed him.

They knew he was going to spill his guts the moment they stepped into the room. Dan figured that the feds had been counting on it. They offered him a deal and Dan took it without a second thought. He hated the way his stomach twisted with guilt as he opened his mouth to sell Herbert down the river, he had to keep reminding himself that this was the right thing to do, as the cops kept reassuring him.

The betrayal wouldn’t set him free. He knew that, but he had expected to feel lighter at least, anything besides the sinking guilt that coiled in his stomach. Herbert deserved this, he told himself, it was the least of it actually.

He forced himself to watch as they took Herbert away. It was his burden to bear, at least that was what he told himself but in reality it was more akin to self-torture. Dan knew better than to look at Herbert’s face for a sign of emotion, his eyes fell to Herbert’s hands and watched the tremors of his twitchy fingers. He supposed he was punishing himself by forcing his eyes to witness the pain he had caused. Dan felt it, the way he’d hurt Herbert, like freeze burn in his chest. Frostbite of the heart.

* * *

It was frighteningly easy to slide back into normality. No longer was he Doctor Daniel Cain, his medical licence was long gone, and he’d changed his name. He had stepped out of the person he used to be, the person he had been for Herbert.

Dan paid his penance working as an orderly in a hospice, a place where all the people he cared for (they weren’t his patients anymore) would die. Death was ever present. He forced himself to get used to death. His hatred of death, his unwillingness to let go, had been the very tool that Herbert had used to first get under his skin.

He couldn’t shake Herbert off completely though. They had spent so much time together, on top of each other, that there was no way that they could not have changed each other. That bond left its mark. Most of the effect was inane and not worthy of note. He found himself correcting people pedantically, something he’d never done before he met Herbert. Every now and then he would miss a meal or stay up too late if he was focused on something. When he realised what he’d done, what he was doing, it would horrify him more than was probably necessary.

He wrote letters and didn’t send them. Sometimes he read them over, just to remind himself of what Herbert had made of him. The letters varied in tone. Some were angry, accusing, bitter of all the lost time, lost opportunity, lost life he should have been living (the lie he should have been living). Some were mournful, grieving the normality that they could have had together, a different life they could have lived that never could have been. Some were remorseful, begged forgiveness, and those were the ones that shamed him to most. Then there were the ones he didn’t even manage to write, the ones that were too dangerous to write down. Those were the ideas he had about the work. His mind would wander to the reagent, their reagent, every now and then. The devil makes work for idle hands, and without Herbert Dan’s mind was often idle.

The days seemed long and endless without something to look forward to, without someone to come home to. It wasn’t as though Dan hadn’t tried to move on. He had been on various dates with a number of women, he’d even tried going to a gay bar a few times, but nothing ever seemed to work out. Eventually, Dan realised that the problem was him. He was tainted by his time with Herbert, damaged goods, far beyond repair.

That was why, when an opportunity for an end came, he met it with open arms.

Dan, no longer his name, climbed the steps up to his front porch. Before he even saw it, he had the oddest feeling that something was _off_. The lock was shot. It wasn’t a rush job, it wasn’t your classic break-and-entry, and the door barely had a mark on it. The lock was completely gone, as though it had been surgically removed. Once, in a movie or on a TV show, Dan had seen the cops pop out the lock on a door with some sort of bolt gun.

Dan stood on the porch, staring at the door and its missing lock, wondering what to do.

It was obvious who it was. Dan had no other enemies, he didn’t own anything that was worth stealing, and he couldn’t think of any other reason that someone might want to break into his home. It couldn’t be anyone else.

In a way it was kind of odd. Why would Herbert make it so obvious that he was waiting inside, he was certainly conniving and cunning enough to break in without leaving a sign. It was clear that Herbert wanted him to know. Another less shocking thought hit Dan then, Herbert was inside and he knew that Dan was outside, knew that Dan had realised what was waiting for him.

The empty hole where the lock had been stood as an omen. 

At first, he considered leaving. He could get back in his car, drive to a phone booth and call the police. But the thought of caging Herbert again pained him in a way that showed the true rot of his soul. With the police would come questions and nosey neighbours and a whole host of things that exhausted Dan just to think about too. And in a way, doing anything besides walking inside felt like delaying the inevitable.

He took a deep breath and stepped through the threshold, accepting whatever fate may come. Perhaps spring would never come again. The thought relieved Dan.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can catch me on tumblr @ theweakestthing and twitter @ th_weakestthing  
> See ya on the next one. x


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